


victory

by randomtuna13 (belindarimbi13)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gratuitous Use of Bukowski, Inspired by Music, It's Not As Sad As It Looks Like, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22014391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belindarimbi13/pseuds/randomtuna13
Summary: If the Earth goes in flames, at least, they've still got each other.It's not a selfishness. It's a small victory.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartoffangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartoffangirl/gifts).



> **disclaimer & note**:
> 
>   * Good Omens is a novel by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, adapted into a TV series by BBC and Amazon Prime and directed by Douglas MacKinnon.
>   * This story is heavily inspired by If The World Was Ending, a song by JP Saxe ft. Julia Michaels; written by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels. Some lyrics are used in the dialogues, but no copyright infringement is intended.
>   * The author does not take material advantage from writing this fanfiction.
> 


He remembers ten years ago, very clearly. Like it just happened yesterday. Then again, maybe for an entity like him, ten years ago is just like a blink of eye. It happened so fast, yet it never faded away.

He still remembers the wine.

The same wine that he keeps in his basement. Waiting to be savoured again. Like old times.

But old times were not something worth celebration.

Aziraphale wipes his glasses. Staring at the Bukowski on his lap. He never likes the guy. He could use some positivity, it's a shame Aziraphale wasn't around him to do so. He doesn't even remember why he reads his book. Aziraphale has standard and Bukowski falls off the chart before the man could even pronounce anything about women and alcohol.

Although if Aziraphale has to admit, he can kinda understand. Not the depressing details maybe. But cats. And writings. Drinking for three occasions, like Bukowski said. Success, mourning, and problems. To celebrate, to forget, and to cause.

Crowley would love the guy.

Aziraphale remembers ten years ago. Like it just happened yesterday.

He blinks.

"Do you really want the world to end?"

Aziraphale did, does. Armageddon cannot be stopped, avoided, averted. It's meant to happen. The Anti-Christ had been delivered. By nobody but Crowley himself.

 _I hate my job,_ Crowley used to rant.

But Aziraphale doubted it. Delivering The Anti-Christ feels like a great deal. Like seducing Eve to eat the apple of Eden. Crowley was always prone to big, important assignment. He must have been greatly rewarded. Hell loves him that much.

I hate my job, he used to rant. _Then, why did you fall?_

 _I liked it better here_. Crowley said, as he watched people roaming in the market somewhere in East. Once upon a time. Temptation was no fairytale, but Crowley is the Grimm of himself. _The thing is, Aziraphale, Earth is amazing. Humans are._ And he would be launching miles about 1001 perks of being flesh and bone and vulnerable.

"Isn't demon supposed to hate human?"

Crowley laughed. _Why so?_

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but he didn't really know how to answer. There's so many questions he had, so little answer he got. Demon and Angel weren't supposed to hang out together, either. And yet they did.

Aziraphale raises from his seat, and walking towards the window. People chattering like there's nothing happened. The Anti-Christ was walking on the Earth and they didn't know that. _Just like ten years ago._ Humans are oblivious to this kind of supernatural event. Good for them, they couldn't sense anything.

He remembers how he finally understand human expression. _His voice turns my blood cold. Gabriel_. He never throws food out. But he feels so sick, he doesn't want to touch foods.

Sushi reminds him of how caught up he was, in Gabriel's finger.

_Smile, Aziraphale! We're going to have Armageddon!_

_Smile, Aziraphale! There will be so much killing!_

It's Mesopotamia, all over again.

Aziraphale steps back. The window, the glasses, they're vibrating. Very faint. Very unnoticeable.

It starts.

He peers up to the sky. Blue darkens into gray. No clouds. No birds. No sun.

It starts.

The car honks in the distance. Aziraphale feels his heart race.

It's not him. He confirms and asks and convinces himself at the same time. The red Ford Anglia passes away, the driver is a man with sour face.

Like a duck.

In the pond.

St. James Park.

_You want all the restaurants to disappear?_

"I—"

_Even the sushi restaurant?_

Aziraphale feels the nostalgic sickness. How can such thing so horrible feels nostalgic?

Another car honks. Another car passes away.

The Armageddon is happening today.

Aziraphale is thinking whether Crowley's driving or not when it starts.

He asks too much.

Too much he can't give.

A kiss will be sufficient.

But forever?

Aziraphale cannot afford forever.

_You'll stay, right?_

"I can't."

_Aziraphale—_

"I have a shop to open."

_You can just—_

"I can't stay, Crowley."

_Angel—_

"Stop it."

He wakes up, collecting his stuffs the human way.

The briefcase feels like a ton of regret and unfinished business. But the finality in his own voice feels heavier.

_I will drive you home._

"Thank you."

~~Thank you for giving up the dreams. It's hurtful to keep wishing upon something that clearly will never happen.~~

It feels like forever to arrive.

It feels like forever to leave.

But, forever is expensive.

A luxury.

A privilege.

Aziraphale cannot afford forever.

_You won't invite me in?_

"Best not." He fumbles with the keys.

_Can I come over sometime?_

"Maybe." He slips in.

_Okay._

"Bye, Crowley, thank you for the ride." He waves goodbye.

It's not a no.

Yet, Aziraphale feels like openly lying and Crowley gladly playing along.

It feels like betrayal.

And he does not like it.

The thought of losing— ** _no_**.

_I drive you anywhere you want to go. Your place, my pla—_

"Maybe some other day."

Another promise he cannot keep.

Aziraphale walks away.

At least his thermos will stay.

~~Is Crowley drinking? What is he drinking? Does he watch the news and thinks about escaping? Or is he just going to let it happen?~~

_You won't do anything._

"No, Crowley, I won't. It's all God's plan. And Her plan is—"

_Ineffable, and what if you are wrong? What if She is wrong? That it'll go in flames for fucking nothing._

Aziraphale cannot answer that. He has doubts too. But voicing them make it real. And to admit his doubts is equals to blasphemy. Angels are made to serve, not to question.

So he doesn't say anything.

_What are you reading?_

"Bukowski."

_The cats guy? Knew him. He's a decent poet._

Aziraphale would describe Bukowski in many thing, but it never occurred to him that the said poet is a cat person.

_Which one?_

"The Last Night of The Earth."

_Neat! Any prophetic coincidence?_

_Confession_ flashes behind his eyes. ( ~~I want to / let her know / though / that all the nights / sleeping / beside her // even the useless / arguments / were things / ever splendid // and the hard / words / I ever / feared to / say / can now be / said: I love / you.//~~ )

Aziraphale shakes his head, and he flicks precisely to the page he aims. "You could have slept through it all and you would never have been missed," he recites. "Never would have been missed at all."

_What's the poem about?_

"It apparently is ' _Oh, I was a ladies' man!_ '."

Crowley chuckles. _Sure, you are._

And they both laughs. As the air shifts. As the sun getting dimmed. As everything seems to breathe harshly.

And then it quietens. Fading away. The volume has been tuned down.

"So, Armageddon."

 _Armageddon_.

"It's happening."

~~If ten years ago I wasn't such a coward, we can avert it. We can work it out. We can stop it.~~

_Are you drinking?_

"What?"

_I wonder if you're still enjoying a good wine while you're reading._

Aziraphale glances at his empty glass. He nods.

"I do."

_Can I come over?_

~~You can't. The world is ending. We're not friends. We're an angel and a demon. We're hereditary enemies. The Armageddon is happening whether we like it or not. If they know about us—The Hell, they would've killed you.~~

_Confession_ echoes in his head. Like someone whispers the words straight into his mind.

Embedding the words with Crowley's figure.

**I want to let him know though—**

"Of course you can."

Crowley doesn't change. Ten years do nothing to his charming smile, his warm snake-like eyes. His flaming red hair. Bit shorter than last Aziraphale remembers, but still fits the demon nonetheless. He walks into the bookshop like he belongs here. Despite everything, he does belong here.

"How's the traffic?"

~~How are you? How have you been? Are you okay? I miss you. I miss you so much. And now, it's all ending.~~

Crowley doesn't play along.

He lurches forward. Arms slung tightly to Aziraphale's neck. The angel stumbles backward.

The demon is shaking.

"I'm so fucking stupid."

Aziraphale chides the profanity.

"It's Mesopotamia, all over again."

It's not Mesopotamia all over again. It's larger than that. Mesopotamia is just a speck in this big blue planet. Armageddon is designed to destroy everything. The Mesopotamia, the next area to the Mesopotamia, the next and the next and the next.

You can't kill kids.

You can't kill all of these humans.

"I love you," Aziraphale breathes out.

Crowley freezes.

"I love you," Aziraphale repeats.

Crowley shakes.

"I love you," Aziraphale whispers.

Crowley kisses the side of his neck.

"I know, you know, we know, you weren't down for forever, and it's fine," he trails off. "I know, you know, we know, we weren't meant for each other, and it's fine"

Aziraphale pulls back, palming the face who comes to haunt him for ten years and maybe longer than that. "But if the world was ending, you'd come over, right? You'd come over, and you'd stay the night. Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant."

Crowley opens his mouth. His lips parts beautifully. Red as an apple. Is it always in that color? Bright and inviting?

"If the world was ending, you'd come over, right?" He chokes. "The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight. No, there wouldn't be a reason why. We would even have to say goodbye."

The weeping angel and the weeping demon. They both falls on their knees.

"If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?"

The sun is blasting. The Armageddon is in motion. The air is shifting. More prominent. The stars are falling. The seas are boiling.

The universe is breaking away. ~~But they aren't.~~

Aziraphale aligns his face, Crowley does too. And they meet in the middle.

Ten years and maybe longer than that. Definitely longer than that.

If the Earth goes in flames, at least, they've still got each other.

It's not a selfishness. It's a small victory.

** _what bargains we have made, we have kept. and as the dogs of the hours close in, nothing can be taken from us but our lives._ **

—Victory, from The Last Night of The Earth by Charles Bukowski

**• fin •**

**Author's Note:**

> > _**[If The World Was Ending](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v%3D1jO2wSpAoxA&sa=D&ust=1577611562230000)**_ by JP Saxe ft. Julia Michaels.
>> 
>> **_Confession_** , _**Oh, I Was A Ladies' Man!** , **Victory**_ are part of **The Last Night of The Earth Poems** , by Charles Bukowski (1992).
> 
> Atsui is responsible for this. How dare she recommending this song. So, I have to write this for her. Doubled as a belated birthday gift. Ha!
> 
> Cry with me and blame her in comments. Kudos will help terrorizing her too.


End file.
